


The Mad Royal Family of Fillory

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, someone dies but they dont stay dead, the welters challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-21 21:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11366469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: A timeline where they do defeat the beast, but are driven so far beyond the brink of madness that Jane has no choice but to reset the loop out of fear of what may become of Fillory and Earth.The only people they trust is one another. They see the rest of the world as a threat, and will do whatever they feel they need to to protect one another. They’re the Mad Royal Family of Fillory and ought not be approached.Above all – they are to be feared.





	1. Prologue

## Prologue

When Martin Chatwin dies, Eliot falls to his knees, drained and broken down. His vision is etched red with the blood of a popped blood vessel in his right eye and his chest heaves as he takes in his surroundings. His hands shake as he looks over his friends bodies, gaze sweeping across the clearing in search of any sign of life. A careful breezes brushes his hair out of his face, cooling the sweat and blood in its place.

A moment later, there’s a soft groan from Margo, stuttering into a hacking cough that wracks her whole body. And then a wheezing inhale from his right indicates Penny’s not dead, either. Alice’s fingers twitch at her side, and Julia and Kady are already starting to stand.

He swallows, thick and unpleasant as he pushes himself to his feet and wipes his hands off on his pants, for once not bothering to take the time to care about the delicate fabric and how easily it stains.

The world twists and turns around him dizzyingly as a he starts to make his way across the field in search of Quentin. Last Eliot saw, he’d been attempting to distract the beast long enough for Eliot to start the spell. Then there was a scream, a sickening crack far off, and when Eliot looked up — Quentin was gone. Eliots jaw pops as he clenches his teeth. His footsteps are staggered and uneven as he limps across the blood soaked forest floor. He wonders who’s blood he’s walking on — the beasts? Margos? Is it all intertwined, a sacrificial offering to Fillory and it’s gods?  

“Where’s Quentin?” Julia croaks, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Eliot shrugs, turning away to look out towards the lining of trees that close off the clearing. “I don’t know,” he says, voice gruff and empty of any feeling, “He disappeared right after I started the spell.”

“The beast,” Kady swallows, taking a step forward, “Cast a spell and Quentin went flying.” She points a hand towards the trees not far from when Eliots looking, “He disappeared through there.”

A hand clamps down on Eliots shoulder and behind him, Penny says, “I’ll go. You can barely walk — just. Stay there.” As Eliot turns to look at him, Penny’s already strolling past him and before long, he’s disappeared through the trees. Just in time, too, because Eliots legs give out beneath him. Kady and Julia rush forward to catch him, barely able to grab onto his arms before he crashes to the ground.

The seat of his pants soaks up the blood in the grass, and Julia and Kady kneel next to him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders as the three of them look out towards the trees, waiting. Something rustles behind them, and Julia pulls away from him to go towards it. Blood rushes through Eliot’s ears, intense and angry, and he can’t hear them beyond a muffled statement, as Kady pulls away too and disappears behind him. Suddenly, Margo’s there, grabbing on him and kneels down so she can sit down, facing him, with her knees bent underneath her. One of her hands comes up, waves around, and his vision clears as the blood slowly fades out of sight.

Her hand cups his cheek and she leans in, whispers quiet but so loud it storms over the rushing blood, “You did it.” And then she’s leaning her head on his shoulder as Julia and Kady stand beside them, all four of them staring intent, cautious at the edge of the clearing.

He sits up a little straighter when the brush starts moving, making way for Penny - and he assumes, Quentin - but then Penny’s pushes through. There’s a deep frown etched on his lips, but it’s not directed at the leaves. Eliot’s eyes fall, and that’s when he see’s him. Penny is holding Quentin, unconscious, carrying him across the clearing, with slow steps. Eliot’s jaw clench, and he scrambles to stand up, but Margo holds him down until Penny sets Quentin’s motionless body on the ground in front of him.

Eliot pulls away from Margo, crawling forward, grazing his hand over Quentin’s forehead, down his cheek and jaw, stopping and cupping it there. “Q?” He asks, soft, voice scraping at the inside of his throat as he leans in closer. “Q, wake up.” He squeezes Quentin’s jaw, shakes it once, twice, and then frowns. “Quentin —,”

“Is—“

“Oh my god—“

“He’s not breathing.” Margo’s words are soft and to the point as she suddenly crawls around until she’s on the other side of him, placing a hand to the pulse point on his neck. Her eyes go wide after a moment and she stretches her neck up to look at Penny. “Why — what did you  _do_?”

“I tried to get him breathing,” Penny mutters, kneeling down next to her, “But I — I was too late or something.” He shakes his head, swallowing visibly as he stares down at Quentin’s body. “He’s dead.”

“No.”

They all turn to him, as Julia and Kady finally to their knees at Quentin’s head and feet. Matching looks of slack jawed shock stare him down, but Eliot just shakes his head. “ _No_.” His chest heaves as he adjusts until he’s sitting on his knees and looking for the cause of death, running his hands over Quentin’s body. There’s too much blood now, to determine where it originated, because all the blood on the forest floor is seeping into his clothes, contaminating Eliot’s search. He’s chin starts to tremble as he leans up and checks all across Quentin’s ribcage for some sort of evidence. Something he can fix.

“Eliot …” Kady starts, even as she stares down at Quentin’s body.

Eliot ignores her, continuing his search. For a moment he thinks there’s nothing, that the beast used a spell to kill him, and just sent his body flying — but then, there it is. At the base of Quentin’s skull.

He’d snapped his neck.

No blood, no pain. Instant death.

Somehow that doesn’t ease Eliot at all.

He holds onto it, cups his hand around the back of Quentin’s neck, looks up at them with wide eyes. “We can fix this,” He says, turning his gaze back on Quentin. He brushes the hair sticky with blood away from Quentin’s forehead with his free hand. Grazes his fingertips over his cheek. Looks back up at them. “We can bring him back.”

Nobody says anything for a moment. He nods to himself, looks back down at the body, his own trembling as he starts to rock gently back and forth, cradling Quentin’s head.

And then, “How?” It’s Margo, leaning over him, placing her hand overtop his at Quentin’s neck.

“There’s a spell,” He whispers, nodding again as he looks back up at them, while his thumb strokes gently at the cooling skin of Quentin’s cheek. “I read about it. It was one of Fogg’s private books, but I snuck in while he was on a retreat with Sunderland and the other teachers.”

“You’re talking about necromancy,” Kady says, pushing herself to her knees with a shake of her head, “That’s insane. Even if it works, it won’t be him. It’ll be a shadow of who he used to be —,”

“No!” Eliot exclaims, turning his gaze back on Quentin. “Not necromancy. Energy. It — it’s energy. You can’t do it with one person because it’ll fry their brain and then you have two dead people instead of one. This wasn’t necromancy.” He looks up at her through his eyelashes, “This brings the person back. Body, mind, soul. There are risks.”

“Aren’t there always?” Julia bites. “How does the spell go?”

He turns his gaze on Penny. “I don’t remember, but —“

“I get it,” Penny mutters, pushing himself up and dusting his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. Dark smudges in the shape of handprints remain. Sticky remnants of war. “What’s it called and where is it?”

Eliot inhales, nodding as his eyes close. Something icy sweet shoots through his veins. “In a secret room at the back of his office. There’s a translucent blue, glass statue on the … fourth shelf from the top. Move that,” He opens his eyes, swallowing. “And it’ll take you to the room. The book’s on the second book shelf on the left. It’s called The Power of Energy, volume four.”

“How much time did you spend in the deans office? Jesus,” Margo mutters, appraising at him with wide eyes.

“You were in Ibiza, Mike was at work, and I was alone. What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” He looks up at Penny, “Why are you still standing there?”

Penny’s eyes drift down to Quentin, before he nods to himself and points a shaking finger at Eliot. “This’ll bring him back? Obnoxious rambling and shitty wards and all? It won’t fuck him up like some sort of zombie?”

“No. He won’t be a — I wouldn’t even offer it as an option if it would!”

Penny scoffs. “Somehow I doubt that.”

But before Eliot can argue, Penny vanishes, and they’re left in the cold, bloody meadow holding Quentin’s body. For a few long moments, nobody says anything. They all sit together, each of them with at least one hand on Quentin, almost as if they’re trying to keep him from letting go. The wind dances through the leaves of the trees, and the grass rustles all around them. The blood solidifies, sticking against their skin and clothes. Eliot’s pants are drying, and he can barely move them without them starting to crackle. The sun starts to set not long — too long — after Penny disappears.

And just as their bodies start to give out, Julia lying in the blood soaked ground, and Kady leaning against Margo’s side, half asleep, Penny appears with a soft pop, and drops down to the ground beside Quentin’s body, laying the book on Quentin’s still stomach. “This is legit,” He says, “I flipped through it a little. There’s enough of us — they say ten is preferable, but I think we can make it work.”

“Maybe we should get the rest,” Alice suggests. Eliot frowns; he hadn’t noticed her get up and join them. “We don’t want to make a mistake.”

“We don’t have time,” Eliot mutters, finally allowing himself to let go of Quentin neck to reach for the book, “You have six hours from the time of death. A quarter of a day. Quentin’s been dead for at least four hours already.” He looks up at her, “So it’s now or never. And I’m telling you right now, Alice. It’s happening now — whether you want to be a part of it or not. If not, you’re more than welcome to  _get the fuck out of my face._ ”

She looks down at Quentin, “I didn’t say I don’t want to be —“

“Then shut the fuck up and start practicing the spell!”

Margo sets a gentle hand on Eliot’s shoulder, “El —“

“We don’t have time for this,” He growls, turning to the page they need with the spell positions. “ _Read_.” He focuses in on the spell as he stands up. He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the feeling back into them as pins and needles prick at the edges of his fingertips. His pants are uncomfortable and stiff, but he rolls his neck and practices the first position.

They all look at each other for a long moment before nodding and looking at the book as well. They go over the positions with each other, helping if somebody struggles with a certain position. There’s no way to perfect it, not with the time they have, but they try. It’s not optimal, and it’s not the best decision, but none of them can disagree with the fact that they don’t have time for optimal. All they have is a ticking clock, and, if they look up at Eliot, potentially a ticking time bomb.

After nearly an hour, Eliot clears his throat. “Are we all confident?” He asks, gazing raking over each of them one by one.

“As confident as I can be,” Kady says.

Julia and Margo nod from where they’re sitting, hands outstretched in front of them, “We’ve got this, El,” Margo says.

“I have my doubts, but I’m not backing out.” Penny sets the book down on Quentin’s stomach again.

Alice swallows as her gaze drops down to Quentin, and back up to them. “Let’s do this,” She murmurs, kneeling down at Quentin’s head. “It’s now or never, right?”

The position themselves around Quentin’s body, until they’re in a perfect circle with Alice at Quentin’s head, and Margo at his feet. Eliot kneels next to his left shoulder, with Kady at Quentin’s right shoulder. Julia and Penny take position on either side of Quentin’s shins. They all outstretch their hands at starting position, and Eliot closes his eyes as he makes the first move, and the magic starts coursing through him, rapid and angry. It’s a long spell, and the buzzing of the magic through his bones aches and begs him to stop, but he pushes through, can feel the rest of them pushing through the pain of the fight, and the need for sleep.

And then something in the atmosphere shifts around them until they’re all blasted backwards, the surrounding trees and rocks the only thing that stop them. 

A moment later, as they all regain consciousness one by one, a gut wrenching wail breaks the silence of the meadow.


	2. Quentin

When Quentin Coldwater sits up in the middle of a clearing, coated in blood with a crick in his neck — he’s confused. A darkness dances along the edges of his vision for a moment, slowly fading away and leaving nothing but the generous green of the forest, the soft light of the moon, and the sticky blood seeping through his clothes. He looks down at himself, wonders how he got here. 

 The battle. The beast killed him. Hadn’t he? He heard the spell, knew it was coming for him. He remembers looking back at Eliot — Eliot! He shuffles to his knees, looks around the clearing. Not far off, the beasts body lie motionless. He turns, pushing to his feet, grimace on his lips as the blood on his clothes slips and slides crusty and slimy against his skin. But there’s a rustle in the tree line, and Alice emerges, stumbling through the grass, hand to her head like she’d hit it. 

 “Alice?” He calls, taking a careful step towards her. 

 She stops and looks at him with wide eyes. “Q!” She screams, “It _worked_!” She dashes across the clearing until she’s crashing into him with a wrought iron grip, her arms wrapping around him and squeezing until he’s struggling to breathe. Before he can even try to tell her, though, she’s pulling away and turning around. “Guys!” She calls out to the empty clearing, “He’s alive!” 

 He blinks, slow, as she turns her attention back on him. “Alice . . .” He starts, swaying in place, “ _What_ worked?” 

 The trees rustle in three different directions, and he spins, unsure of which way to turn. But three bodies emerge from the tree line. He’s slow to focus, still dizzy, but as they approach their forms click into focus one by one: Julia, relieved and limping through the dirt, Kady shock-ridden and bleeding, and finally, Margo. She stops at the edge of the treeline when she sees him. Mouth falling open, she stares at him with wide eyes. 

 Even with the way the world’s dancing around him, Quentin can see her jaw tremble as she takes a cautious step forward. “Q?” She asks, and she sounds more fragile than he’s ever thought her capable. Before he can even think to open his mouth, she’s running through the grass and straight at him. 

 He opens his arms just in time for her to crash into his chest. “Are you okay?” He asks, pulling away after a moment, looking down at her. 

 “It worked,” Is all she says, before she’s turning in the opposite direction and running back into the woods, and Quentin’s left grasping at thin air.

 “Uh —“ He turns back to the others, Julia who’s watching him with wide, appraising eyes, Kady who’s staring at him dubiously, and Alice, a shocked little smile on her face. “Am I missing something? Where’s Eliot? I —,” He pauses, furrowing his brow as he looks past them to the beasts body. “I thought I — I died.”  

“You did,” Kady says, tilting her head at him. “We brought you back.” 

He stumbles back a step. “ _ What _ ?” He hisses, “Necromancy? Am I — I’m a —“ 

“No,” Julia murmurs, holding a hand out to him, “No. That’s not what we did.” 

“ _ We _ ?” 

Behind him, a hoarse, broken voice calls out, “Q?” And even as indistinct as it is, it’s only a moment before Quentin registers the voice and whips around to face it. It feels like his voice is echoing on the wind between them, dancing through the vibrations in the air, whispering in Quentin’s ears. Even as Eliot stands there, supported by Margo, slumped against her side, blood dripping down the side of his face. “Are you —,” He flinches, closing his eyes and swallowing thickly, “Do you feel —“

“Like I’ve just died?” 

Eliot nods once, quick. “Yeah. That.” 

Quentin shakes his head. “My neck hurts, and I’m dizzy and confused . . . but no. What — are  _ you _ okay?” 

He looks down at Margo, says something Quentin can’t hear. After only a moments hesitation, she nods and together they’re moving towards the center of the clearing. Quentin takes a dizzying step to meet them halfway, one after the other, even as the world tips and swirls around him. They meet with a heavy hug, legs giving out beneath them until they’re kneeling on the ground, held upright by each other as they breathe one another in. Quentin’s face is tucked in the crook of Eliot’s neck, and Eliot’s chin is resting atop Quentin’s head. 

The others move in around them, stand over them, looming, as they all look up to the sky and feel a soft, relieved sigh work its way of their chests. 

The beast is dead, and they’re all alive. 

Eliot pulls away, stares down at Quentin. His hands come up and cup the sides of Quentin’s face as his eyebrows crease and his tears fill with tears. His thumb strokes Quentin’s cheek. “I can’t believe it worked,” He whispers, sniffing. 

“What did you do? How did you . . . save me?” 

“We didn’t save you,” Margo murmurs, kneeling to sit down next to them. “You were dead.” 

 Penny appears in the corner of Quentin’s vision and moves to sit down next to Margo. “ _Dead_ dead,” He says, nodding as he looks at Quentin, “You weren’t breathing. I couldn’t even incept you. It was the most peaceful my brains felt in _months_.” The smile he attempts doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he looks down and tugs at the grass. 

“Then why —“ 

“Peaceful’s overrated.” He looks up at him, raises an eyebrow like he’s challenging Quentin to offer a retort. 

Quentin nods once. “Okay.” 

“It’s not a big deal. Don’t make it a thing.”

“I’m not.” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” Quentin nods again as Penny rolls his eyes. Eliot squeezes his hand and Quentin turns his attention back on him. “How did you do it?” He asks, soft. 

Eliot shakes his head, dropping his hands down to lace them through Quentin’s. “That’s not important,” He murmurs, gaze coming back up to look at him. “What’s important is you’re alive. The beast is dead, and we didn’t lose anything. It’s over, Q.” He swallows, straightening his shoulders. “Just — don’t die again.” 

Julia hums an agreement as she steps froward and gently places a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. Her thumb presses against his neck in a soft, barely there graze that sends a tremor through his entire body. As soon as his body rocks away, she takes a step to the side and clears her throat. “Did that hurt, Q?” 

He shakes his head. “No. It just. Felt weird, is all.” 

“We need to keep an eye on you,” Alice suddenly says, “If anything feels weird, or off or —“ 

“Please just let us enjoy this for five fucking minutes,” Margo growls up at her, sneering through her hair. “Can we not just be happy he’s alive?"

Alice shakes her head. “No, we can’t. He was dead. We brought him back to life. And I don’t know if you heard that scream —“ 

“I did.” Margo huffs, crossing her arms. “But he’s fine. Look at him. He’s talking and breathing.” 

“Guys. I’m right here —“ 

“But he  _ was _ dead. And we used an incredibly intricate spell with less than ideal resources, and without nearly enough time to master it. It’d be irresponsible not to at least keep track of his waking progress!” 

 Kady steps forward. “I agree,” She says, nodding her head. “We did what we had to to save him, but now that he’s alive, we need to make sure we didn’t fuck it up.” 

 Quentin frowns. “Fuck what up? I don’t —“ 

 “Shut up!” Eliot exclaims, squeezing his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight, Quentin can see the veins in his throat tensed through the taut skin of his throat. “Stop. We are _not_ doing this right now.” His gaze meets each of them before it falls on Quentin. He lets go of one of Quentin’s hands to reach up and graze his hand against Quentin’s cheek again. “We’re not worrying about what could happen right now,” He murmurs, chin trembling. “Right now we revel in victory. And we’ll celebrate at the castle with whatever alcohol this god forsaken world has to offer. And tomorrow,” He glances up at Kady and Alice, “ _Tomorrow_. We can worry. Not today. I’m _done_ worrying today.” 

 Squeezing Eliot’s hand, Quentin turns to look at them as well. “Tomorrow?” Kady ticks her jaw for a moment before she looks up at the sky with a brief nod. Alice sighs, waving a hand in front of her in agreement. Nodding, Quentin turns back to Eliot. “Tomorrow.” 

 Margo heaves a breath and turns her attention on Penny. “Can you get us to the castle? Before we all die of blood loss or something even more ridiculous?” 

 Penny nods, dropping handfuls of bloody grass to hold his hands out to her and Julia. Margo hesitates for a moment, making a face at the blood on his hands before sighing and placing her hand in his. He rolls his eyes and scoots closer to the center of them all, so Eliot and Quentin can place a hand on his shoulder and knee without too much effort. Julia grabs Penny’s free hand, while Kady and Alice move around to place a hand on his upper arm and shoulder. 

 Quentin’s barely blinked when he finds that they’re in the main corridor of the castle, and the castle staff is rushing towards them all, screaming out commands for blankets and wet rags and a healer. 

 As the healer appears, looking over each of them and offering soft spoken spells to heal minor wounds — like the cut on Margo’s head, and the bump on Eliot’s — Quentin takes a steadying breath, letting his gaze slowly follow his friends. The darkness is creeping in on at the corners of his vision again, but he shakes his head and it’s gone almost as if it’d never really been there. He chooses to ignore it, rather than let it freak him out. 

 Eliot’s watching him from his place across the corridor, where the healer’s fussing over him. His gaze is intent, holding something Quentin rarely gets to see from him. Something he’s used to feeling float around in his gut uncomfortable and steady. But now, seeing it reflected back at him, it’s different, heavier. Kinder, than he’s used to. 

 Margo, head bandaged, leans over. “He loves you, you know,” She says. Quentin turns to look at her, and she smiles closed lipped. “After today, I don’t see the point in pretending anymore. You guys,” She makes a face, nose crinkling as she waves a hand, “ _fight_ it. Pretend it’s not there. Even though it’s so _obvious_. He would give anything for you. All of us would — we don’t even know if there’s a price to pay for what we did to bring you back.” Reaching up, she squeezes his arm, “We’d do it again, no matter the cost, don’t get me wrong. But Eliot . . .” Her gaze drifts across the corridor to lock on Eliot. “It’s more for him. _You’re_ more to him.” 

 Quentin nods, looking down to his lap. “I died for him,” He whispers. When she doesn’t respond, he turns to her again. “The beast would have killed him. So I said I’d distract him.” He shrugs. “I knew what would happen.” 

 She squeezes his arm again and leans over to rest her head on his shoulder, both of them turning their gaze on Eliot. “You love him,” She murmurs, fingers warm against his pulse. “And he loves you. And the beast is dead. Maybe it’s time you two allow yourselves to be happy.” 

 “I wouldn’t even know how to begin.” 

 She pulls away to raise an eyebrow at him. “Confession of feelings might be a good start,” She deadpans with a shake of her head. “Or a kiss. I doubt he’d turn down a kiss.” She leans her head back on his shoulder and shuffles closer. “He’s been wondering what it’d be like to kiss you from the moment you walked on campus, and into his life.” 

 He chews on his lower lip, nodding. Eliot smiles softly at him, and Quentin looks down at his lap. “I should wait,” He says, placing a hand overtop Margo’s on his arm, “What if something goes wrong with this spell you guys did? I —“ 

 “Then you’d better make the most of the time you have.” She pulls away and looks at him intently. “Q, if this spell is temporary . . . you can’t just wait to find out.” She turns her hand upright and squeezes Quentin’s. “If you do, it’ll just be wasted moments. Do you want to use up any remaining time on regrets and anxiety? Take what you want. Be happy. Allow yourself.” Her chin trembles as she looks down at their hands. Her hand is shaking in his. “If this isn’t permanent, it’ll be awful. But we’ll at least have some good memories before it all blows up in our faces.” 

 Quentin sniffs, nodding as he turns his gaze back on Eliot. “Doesn’t everything blow up in our faces anyways?”

 She chokes out a soft laugh, “Yeah. Let’s try and avoid the blowback this time, though.” The healer says something to Eliot, and Eliot nods, pushing up from the floor and making his way over to them. Something dances in Quentin’s stomach as he approaches, and Margo’s pulls away to stand up. She looks down at him. “Think about it, okay?” He nods, and she grins, blowing a kiss down to him. “Good, love you, even if you’re an idiot.” The smile betrays the insult, and then she’s strolling off, grabbing Penny by the elbow and disappearing through the doorway. 

 Eliot greets him with a  smile before taking up her spot. “Hey.” 

 And Quentin, for once in his life, decides not to think about his next move. Because he turns to face him, reaches up, and pulls Eliot in for a kiss. His heart beats angrily against his chest, clamoring for him to pull away because Eliot isn’t responding — but then there’s a quick inhale, and a hand weaving into Quentin’s hair. Chap lips move against him, warm and hungry and perfect. 

 Eliot’s the first to pull away. He presses his forehead against Quentin’s and looks into his eyes. “That was unexpected,” He breathes, nails carting through Quentin’s hair softly. 

 Quentin nods, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. “Didn’t wanna die again without that happening at least once,” He says. 

 Eliot’s fingers still and Quentin opens his eyes again. “You’re not going to die again,” Eliot says, voice quivering. “Okay?” 

 “Okay.” He’s not sure how long he can keep himself from dying, but he’s not going to argue with Eliot. Not today, at least. 

 They’re quiet for a few long moments, until Eliot tilts his head curiously, something gentle and playful dancing behind his eyes. Quentin narrows his eyes suspiciously just as Eliot asks, “So. Was that a love confession?” He smirks, raising his eyebrows, “Because it felt like a love confession.” 

 “Might have.” 

 Eliot’s smirk doubles in wattage, “Good,” He glances down as he lace his fingers through Quentin’s. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “Yeah.” He closes his eyes, “Kind of a perfect moment. Isn’t it?” 

 Quentin shrugs, “I mean. If you ignore the fact that our clothes are literally soaked in blood . . . and everything that happened today.” 

 Eliot shakes his head, opens his eyes just long enough to glare at him, “Technicalities.” 

 “If you say so.” 

 Ignoring the technicalities, Quentin does have to agree. It is a perfect moment. 

 

 

 

**

 

The next day, Quentin wakes up, Eliot curled up against his side, and the sun shining down on them from the window. Something warm flutters in his chest for just a moment before fading away as Eliot opens his sleep dusted eyes and smiles softly up at him. Quentin smiles back, raking his fingers through Eliot’s hair as the tree leaves dance in the sunlight, casting waves of shadows across the room. Eliot’s hair is soft, no longer coated with blood. His fingers gets stuck in a tangle, and Eliot flinches, but Quentin murmurs a spell under his breath, and starts to work the tangles out with his fingers and a little bit of magic. 

 Eliot sighs into him, eyes fluttering under his ministrations. “Mm,” He hums, “Do this often?” 

 Quentin just chuckles and continues working through the curls. 

 Before long, Eliot’s fallen back asleep, snoring softly into Quentin’s chest. 

 And not long after that, one of the royal advisors knocks on the door and tells them they’re to meet in the throne room soon for an advisory meeting in regards to the future of Fillory. 

 The meeting takes all day, and the conversation about the future of _Quentin_ is momentarily forgotten. 

 

**

 

Two days later, they wake up in a similar position. Though Eliot’s wide eyes are blinking down at Quentin when he wakes up. There’s a smirk curving at the edges of Eliot’s lips as he leans down to press a kiss to Quentin’s jaw. Quentin’s hands find themselves winding through Eliot’s curls again, laughing softly as Eliot’s stubble brushes along the line of his jaw. 

 He tries not to notice the darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision, closing his eyes and trying to get lost in the moment. 

 When he opens his eyes, the darkness has receded, but it’s still there, peeking in at the corners of the room. 

 He pulls away from Eliot. “We still need to have that talk,” He says, pushing to sit up against the headboard. “About what you guys did. And the consequences.” 

 Eliot shakes his head, stretching up to press a soft kiss to his chin. “You’re worried about nothing,” He murmurs, reaching forward and grabbing onto his shoulder. His thumb brushes against Quentin’s collarbone. “It’s been three days. If something were going to happen . . . we’d already see the signs.” 

 Inhaling, Quentin nods, forcing a smile. “You’re right.” 

 “As always.” 

 He rolls his eyes and forces down the worry. 

 Because he’s afraid there _are_ signs. Signs that point to this spell being temporary. 

 But he could be wrong. He’s been paranoid over nothing before.

 

 

**

 

A week passes and the darkness grows more and more envious and greedy as it seeps into his life. Something inside him snaps, breaks down and disintegrates. He’s not sure what it is, but that fluttery feeling in his stomach fades away. And when he wakes up next to Eliot he doesn’t feel anything. 

 He forces himself to believe it’s just the depression rearing it’s ugly head and forcing itself into every aspect of his life. 

 But when Julia approaches him, aloof and far off, his heart bangs against his ribcage, because she senses it, too. “We still need to have that talk,” She says, leaning against the column in the throne room. “Something’s happening.” All he wants is to tell her what’s happening, explain exactly what it is. Because she’s known him long enough to know his depression. And he’s known her long enough, and owes her more than he can imagine, to tell her that he’s dying. Again.

 But Eliot’s sitting at the table making plans with Margo and Tick and Quentin doesn’t want to ruin this for him. Especially if he’s about to die. So, he shakes his head, pushing up from the throne. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everything’s fine.” 

 “Q —“ 

 He sighs, turns to her and says, “Julia. Leave it alone.” 

 She stares at him for a few seconds, before shaking her head and storming out of the throne room without so much as a glance back. 

 Part of him wishes she’d turn back around and make him talk. Make them all talk. 

 But she doesn’t. And he goes to the table to check on the plans for the future of Fillory — even if he won’t be there to witness them in action.

 

**

 

The atmosphere in the castle changes. 

 Quentin drags himself out of bed one morning, heads for the throne room just in time to find Margo ordering a servant be thrown in the dungeon for misplacing Margo’s favorite shoes. He’s too tired to question it, just slumps into his throne, and watches Margo and Eliot talk to one another. They don’t seem to notice his appearance. 

 For a moment he wonders if he’s a ghost, drifting aimlessly through the castle until someone finds his body. 

 But then Eliot turns his smile on him, somewhat manic but wholly beautiful and leans over to press a kiss to his temple. He expects the butterflies to return, to dance through his gut like a parade, but all he can feel is the soft warmth of Eliot’s lips, and the creeping darkness. 

 He pulls away, smiles at Eliot, and heads back to his room. 

 He tries not to notice the small changes in Kady, Penny and Alice as he passes their rooms. But there’s something harsher in Alice’s gaze as they make eye contact before she magics her door shut. And Penny seems lost, too, when Quentin passes him. Kady . . . seems different, but he can’t pinpoint how, exactly. 

 All he knows is something’s changed, and they’ve missed the signs. 

 And none of them, including him, feel like talking about it. 

 

**

 

He stops leaving his room. 

 They all visit him, despite the changes. But he can’t make himself get out of bed, can barely force himself to open his eyes. The darkness creeps at his very bones, no longer solely inhabiting his mind and vision. It’s like it’s trying to drag him down — to where, he doesn’t know. Eliot curls up against him most days, as long as he can until he’s needed. Runs his fingers through his hair, offers stories from the throne room. Some days he’s soft and kind, others he’s bitter. Most days he feels different. Quentin doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something behind Eliot’s eyes that he’s never seen before. Whatever it is, its the only thing that sneaks past the darkness, and fills Quentin’s stomach with worry. 

 Until one day it doesn’t. 

 Margo spends most days with him, as well. Though she sits up against the headboard, lets him lay with his head in her lap. Her gaze is harder when anyone other than their friends walk through the door. She’s angrier. 

 One day she doesn’t visit, and she comes back the next day with promises that everything’ll be okay. He tries not to wonder what she’s talking about but she insists, “Everything’s fine, Q, I figured it out.” And he thinks that maybe everything will be. Because she sounds so sure. 

 When Julia visits, she kneels next to the bed and holds his hand. They don’t say anything. They don’t need to. He thinks she knows what he’s afraid is happening. 

 One day, just as the Fillorian sun is setting, she looks up at him, with wide, earnest eyes, and says, “I’ll protect you. No matter what it takes.” He forces a small smile and kisses her knuckles in thanks before letting his eyes fall shut again. 

 Alice visits a few times. But she claims she has too much to do. She doesn’t think he’s dying, just that he’s having a particularly bad depressive episode. He hopes she’s right. 

 When Penny visits, Quentin can see the reflection of the darkness in his eyes. He stands in the corner of the room, and appraises Quentin silently, most days. 

 One day, he actually says something. “Why aren’t you thinking anything?” 

 Quentin shrugs weakly, “Not much to think.” He looks up at him. “Thought you’d appreciate the peace.” 

 Penny looks at the ground, kicking at the floor. “Peace is overrated.” 

 Quentin wonders if that means he’s thinking what Quentin’s thinking is happening. But neither of them say anything else. 

 Kady seems the strangest when she finally visits. Her eyes are hollow. She sits at the edge of the bed. “Why do we love?” She asks, quiet. She looks up at him, frowning. “We’ll only get hurt.” 

 And he shrugs, because he’s the one causing the hurt these days. “Because we should be happy sometimes.” 

 Her jaw ticks as she nods and crawls across the bed to lie next to him. “You’re okay?” She asks once she’s settled. 

 He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I think so.” 

 Kady doesn’t know him well enough to realize it’s a lie. 

 

**

 

He wonders if this is what dying feels like. He can’t remember his first death, but the slow depletion of energy and feeling makes him wonder. Margo and Eliot have to carry him to the throne room. Have to scoot their thrones closer to his to make sure he doesn’t fall to the side. 

 He feels so weak. So _empty_. It’s like every part of him has been replaced with the darkness. His heart, his soul. When he looks at Eliot, it’s not the same as it was before. There’s no dancing silhouette in the light that makes him bubble over with love. No fluttering butterflies in his gut. Nothing to make him feel alive. 

 So he wonders if this is what it feels like to die. 

 A slow progression until there’s nothing left. 

 Blinded by darkness. 

 

**

 

The call him The Broken King. He doesn’t speak unless he has to. He doesn’t leave his room unless forced or carried. Can barely open his eyes most days. Though, one look in his eyes is all it takes to see it. 

 When he can no longer perform his duties as king, Margo and Eliot announce that they’ve extended the royal family to include the two Princess’ — Kady and Julia — and a prince, Penny. Three thrones are added to the throne room. Three new crowns forged. 

 Something awful washes over them all not long after. But it’s to be expected, after all, with all magic comes a cost. 

 Life in death. 

 Death in life. 

 Every spell has it’s price. 

For Quentin, it is the essence of life. All that makes life worth living. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support guys!!! That was amazing to see. 
> 
> This chapter was a little more dififcult to write, but yeah.


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